


Honey & Lemon

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [29]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem at the Womens' Institute proved to have unexpected benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey & Lemon

“Stop wriggling!” Ryan emphasised his words with a stinging slap to Stephen’s thigh.

His lover rolled his eyes in complaint, “Well, stop bloody tickling me!”

Ryan sighed. There was only one thing to do with Hart when he was in a ticklish mood.

He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed two pairs of padded cuffs from the drawer. 

Stephen Hart’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

Five minutes later, his expression had changed to one of mild irritation as he led on the bed, spread out face down, wrists and ankles secured while Ryan lounged in a chair, eating a slice of toast.

“When I suggested we had fun with food, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Stephen grumbled. “And why can’t I have any?” 

Ryan stood up, brushing crumbs off his bare chest. “You can’t eat toast face down. Well known fact. You might choke.”

Stephen sighed. “Ryan, you spent a large part of last night fucking my throat, and now you’re worried I might choke on a toast crumb?” 

The soldier grinned, and without bothering to continue the discussion, grabbed a scarf out of a drawer and proceeded to blindfold his grumbling lover.

Then Stephen heard soft footsteps heading out to the kitchen, the sound of water running, the clink of plates and the occasional opening and closing of cupboard doors. This was more domesticated than Ryan normally got on a Sunday morning, for sure, but it was a very odd sort of domestication which manifested itself in the middle of a bondage game. 

The footsteps returned.

Ryan’s weight settled down on the bed. 

And a cold finger started to trail down Stephen’s spine.

A cold, sticky, finger, to be precise. 

The soldier wasn’t normally a big fan of food games, so this was a new departure for him.

The finger tracked lower, occasionally departing to gather more stickiness, before continuing its inexorable journey south. 

“If you’re going to stick bits of rough cut marmalade up my arse, I’m not going to be pleased,” remarked Stephen, conversationally.

“’s not marmalade.” 

“Jam?”

“There’s only raspberry, and I don’t like the pips.” A sticky finger wormed its way inside Stephen, forcing a slightly surprised yelp from his mouth. 

The finger pulled out, and returned to its earlier occupation introducing more something into the cleft of Stephen’s arse, coating him thoroughly, inside and out.

Stephen shivered in pleasant anticipation. 

A moment later, a warm, wet tongue started lapping down his spine and into the twin dimples at the base of his back, then Ryan was licking and biting at the curves of his arse, and Stephen was trying and failing, to squirm.

“Forget it, Hart. Take it like a man,” the soldier advised.

Stephen grinned. “Ryan, what the hell are you using? It’s too sticky for cream.”

A second later, coherent thought took a short and very enjoyable holiday, as Ryan’s tongue started to burrow inside him, licking and probing, while two very capable hands spread his arse cheeks, rendering him immobile at the same time.

“Stop trying to hump the bed!” 

Stephen groaned and tried to comply with the instruction. He failed. He needed more friction on his cock.

One hand pressed down hard into the small of his back, while an expert finger re-applied more stickiness both inside and out, slithering across his prostate, rubbing and teasing, turning groans to whines.

Then the tongue was back, and whines turned to mewls.

It was Ryan’s turn to grin. Hart never did manage to stay still while he was being rimmed, and tying him down was the easiest way he’d found of keeping him in one place without the need for too much physical effort. This way, Ryan could concentrate on the task in hand without his blue eyed lover writhing like a bunch of snakes in a bag underneath him.

Ryan’s tongue probed deeper.

Stephen would be begging for a fuck in less than a minute. No two ways about it.

The mewling turned into an incoherent babble but the words fuck me definitely figured there somewhere, muffled, but recognisable. Yep. It had taken about 45 seconds of tongue fucking to get his lover pleading for a shag.

Ryan sent a mental vote of thanks to whoever at the Women’s Institute had made this particular batch of lemon honey, then he settled down between Stephen’s legs and proceeded to drive his lover over the edge using nothing more than lips, tongue and teeth. 

It tasted great. He’d find out later how well the stuff worked as a lubricant.


End file.
